


January 11th

by channexmogar



Series: Memory Files (NumberSMP) [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (by mention only) - Freeform, Boats and Ships, Gen, Memories, NumberSMP au, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, guys i don't know how to tag, like I really don't, taken from my blog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:35:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27707732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/channexmogar/pseuds/channexmogar
Summary: On January 11th, Philza is ready to go home to his boys.Unfortunately, that isn't in the cards for him.(a reupload of "Philza.mem" from ask-dreamsmp)
Series: Memory Files (NumberSMP) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026484
Kudos: 5





	January 11th

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! feeling confused? this au is from ask-dreamsmp on tumblr. Check it out ;)

Asleep.

At least, the strawberry-blonde should’ve been asleep. 

Instead…

Phil laid there, rocked into a lull by the constant push-pull of water enveloping him into some sort of ease. It used to be not so calming; his first night traveling, away from Wilbur and Tommy and Tubbo, too, he was horrendously seasick. It’s a telltale sign that he’s been gone longer than he thought he’d ever be.

It was January. He left in September. 

This means a lot of things, all of which he documented in an ornate, brown-paper notebook strung together with some green yarn. Tied in odd angles and a little well-loved… It’s the only thing Phil had from Tubbo, the little brunette tending to keep to himself, a little shy, a little unstable. He wrote in it that night, as he did other nights, as if he was talking to him. To all of them, really.

_ January 11th--  _

_ Dear Boys: _

_ No signs of Hermit yet, but it’s supposedly next on the route. _

He glanced around in his room. It’s reasonably spacious, certainly enough room for him, the bed wide and not crowded by little kids having nightmares or older kids having nightmares. They were always having nightmares. Perhaps even when he was gone.

He scratched his pen against the page.

_ It’s definitely not a vacation, but I’ve got ho _

Past his door, a door clattered open-and-close, and another after that. He sat up further; the pen clicked in, set to the side, holding his place in the notebook. 

“You think it’s him?” A voice asked, murmuring suspiciously, hoping not to be heard. Its counterpart, much quieter, rumbled alongside them, nearly unheard. An odd tense feeling prickled up Phil’s back, and he squinted slightly, throwing his legs over the side of the bed before hoisting himself up. 

The first voice carried the conversation for the rumble of the other. “You could never be too careful, friend,” they suggested. The strawberry blonde nearly stumbled over his own feet but caught himself, thankful: he slipped on his sandals gingerly, curiosity infecting him in a peculiar way, like he could sense there was something to this night above all other nights worth listening to.

“You know, I thought it was you, for a second there. But it definitely wouldn’t be, right?”

The two rumbled out a nervous sort of chuckle. Philza took a step, freezing at the creak of the floor underneath him. 

Silence. He held his hands out carefully.

Above his head, the faintest trickle of rain seemed to sound from above deck, slowly raising faster and faster until it became a loud downpour, the skies drenching the ship and, thankfully, providing enough sound for him to reach the door comfortably. Unfortunately, though, that same torrent of water made it harder to hear the discussion of his two common-mates. 

His hand met the doorknob, tightening around it as if he needed it to comfortably keep ahold of things. He twisted it slightly, planning to open it, but the thought occurred to him then. 

What would he do if he opened it? Walk out inconspicuously, ignoring the potential conspiracy right in front of him? Not likely. That would do him no good, they’d know. 

But… he ached to hear more, if not for his own preservation, for  _ her _ preservation. This could be important. He twisted it still, needing only to pull and throw it open. Reluctantly he glanced towards his hat, still placed haphazardly on his desk from when he’d come in after dinner. There was a picture next to it of his three, snapped by someone somewhere someplace--the details didn’t matter. What did matter? 

The picture was what made him hesitate, and then slowly… slowly… let go. 

He couldn’t go nosing around in other people’s business. He was on this boat to accomplish a task: find Tilde, go home. He stepped backwards, glancing towards the door and the silence behind it, brows still narrowed uncertainly until he shook his head, deciding no, no, not tonight. He would be in Hermit soon, and then he would go home. He wouldn’t have to catch a ride on a cargo ship going everywhere he didn’t need to be on the way back, he--they, could go straight there, together. 

He stumbled back into sitting on his bed, fumbling for the notebook and pen, prying it open again.

_ It’s definitely not a vacation, but I’ve got hope. Big plans, too. We can’t stay in  _ _ L’Manberg _ _ Schlatt City forever, I think. Once I’m there, I’ll give it a once over and see if there would be a better place. Live seems to be our best option.  _

He sighed, tapping the bridge of his nose with his pen.

_ It’s lonely there, though. But! We’ll have each o _

The door flung open with a  **crack,** the wood of it splitting as it hit the wall, and Philza froze. If we’re being honest, it wouldn’t have mattered if he did move.

It wouldn’t have mattered because the two figures crowded into his door. One, shorter in stature with an inquisitive eye, donning horns twisted similarly to an eland’s, ears stuck outwards like an animal, looked onwards curiously while the other grabbed him under the arms and dragged him from his space. 

“Let go of me! Let go of- mmf!”

Phil shook his head rapidly as the two sets of figures dragged him out into the downpour, words muffling as a scrap of fabric was tied around his face and forced into his mouth, effectively leaving him at a loss for words. Were he not? He would have several, several choice words for these two.

“You!” One shouted, the owner of the first voice and clearly the pusher for… whatever was happening. “You’ve been conspiring against President Schlatt! I’ve known it  _ all  _ along!”

The strawberry blonde tried to shake his head, but the silent second grabbed his face, holding him steady. So instead, his bright-blues stared wildly as he was dragged through cargo and containers, soaked to the skin from the rain.

They stopped moving with a rumble of thunder, hooked underneath his arms. He tried to think of ways to get out of there.

Defending himself was clearly not an option, he noted, trying to maneuver the gag. He tensed up, trying to throw the silent second off of him, thrashing about in an attempt to get out. 

An idea came like a flash of lightning.

Slipping through the sleeves of his overcoat, the heavy and loose old thing always consistently coming in handy, he shoved past and bolted for the containers once more. He weaved back-and-forth through the set of containers before making the move and scrambling up one in three swift motions, feeling like flying as he threw himself up to the top, looking down for the two… and for a way out.

Realistically there was nowhere else to go, he noted, tugging the fabric out of his mouth. He couldn’t play cat-and-mouse until they docked again: he was outnumbered, outmatched. They could easily starve him out, he thought, looking over the side of the container and squinting to find where they’d run off to and finding them gone, long gone. He threw himself back over and landed on his back, away from prying eyes, twiddling his hands as he thought about what to do. 

Being weaponless was the first problem. He preferred being armed, trained himself in fighting with a sword when he was bored and needed out of the house, but he supposed he could manage as long as he stayed quick on his feet. He rolled over onto his hands and knees, squinting to focus despite the now cacophonous sounds of storm. He looked up suddenly and there they were.

A horned figure stood across from him, the silent one, staring with a tilt of the head and twitch of the eye. Dark hair wrapped around them in long, uncut ringlets, tied back and ready for battle, a feather in their hair. There was a moment of frozen, staring acknowledgment. The calm before the storm. The eye of the hurricane.

And then they ran at Phil, aiming to tackle with a battle cry.

He did the only reasonable thing he could. He jumped.

To be more specific, he jumped and sidestepped, getting around them and grabbing their arm. He twisted and then shoved, foot jammed on the others as they dangled over the edge they’d just tried to push him off of.

“What are you doing!” He asked, having to yell over a crack of lightning. “Who do you work for!”

They smiled, and the loudmouthed, horned figure grabbed Philza and dragged them both back over the edge.

“An enemy of President Schlatt is an enemy of me,” The first voice said with a growl, pointed teeth revealing themselves, hidden away before. They hooked an arm around Phil’s neck and slipped off of the edge, back towards the ground. And they were back where they started.

Phil was being dragged, this time with no censor to his choice words, more forceful on all sides. The silent eland followed along as they reached the edge and railing of a ship, and things clicked into place. Oh god.   
“Wait,” Phil said, eyes blown wide and bright by another flash and crack. “No, no you can’t. You don’t understand, I’m not against Schlatt at all, I’m looking for-”

The loudmouth slapped him, grabbing him by the hair and pulling him up to eye level. His head tilted, his own hair cropped and shoved under a hat. “Goodnight to the revolution, baby,” He said with a drawl and smirk, and suddenly…. 

Suddenly, he was surrounded by rough waves, abandoned, sinking underneath with wide, horrified eyes. As his vision went hazy, stinging with salt and shaken from the sudden chill, he looked up at the ship that was swiftly abandoning him. Alongside him came his coat and hat, falling elegantly through the air, hovering over the surface, and he reached quickly for them, his shellshocked mind thinking oh, he couldn’t go without them. Go? Go where? His mind was going haywire. 

The figure with long, dark ringlets watched from the railing…. And then threw the other figure over, too. Phil’s vision went black.

He washed ashore eventually, unsure of how far he’d drifted and how long he’d been out. It was still storming, a crack of lightning coming behind him as he finally, finally pulled himself up from the wet, sandy banks of shoreline. He was soaked to the skin and freezing, getting colder by the minute as he thoughtfully squeezed out his hat, clutching it tightly. With blurry vision, he tried to get a grasp on where he was, but it didn’t seem to come to him immediately. He dragged himself further up onto the shoreline, under a cover, finally out of the storm.

Philza found himself alone and afraid, but finally… Asleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @ask-dreamsmp / @channexmogar  
> twitter @channexmogar
> 
> let's talk there


End file.
